


Reverdie

by Zither



Series: Beneath the Ironwood Tree [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Flowers, Snow and Ice, Team Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zither/pseuds/Zither
Summary: The Iron Lords see a sign of spring.





	

They made it down into the foothills by dimday, or close enough. The setting sun struck dull red sparks off their gear as they set up camp. Working in tandem, Skorri, Felwinter, and Timur drew lines of brilliance around the site. Beyond that artificial boundary, not even Saladin's own internal fire could shield his face from the chill. Inside it, the air was almost as warm as an afternoon at the Peak baths. He closed his eyes, breathing it in for a second. When he reopened them, the others were starting to cluster around a shallow depression near the centre. Silimar crouched on the ground, already disassembling his rifle. Behind him stood Perun; as per their usual agreement, she was using his broad, patient back as a map rest. When she glanced up from her annotations, her eyes met Saladin's. She invited him over with a tilt of her chin, but he shook his head and held up three closed fingers. _In a moment_.

Jolder's shadow came out of the forest at a dead run. She flew right past the solid presence of Radegast, patrolling beyond the bounds of the camp, and crashed over the invisible line like a storm making landfall. Dusk turned her sprinting form into a bizarre, misshapen silhouette. Once she made it to the centre, illuminated by several Ghosts at once, the image resolved itself: her arms were full of logs. She scanned the area, caught Saladin watching her, and struck a dramatic pose, grinning at him across the small divide. It was as if she had an armful of feathers. Her legs weren't even braced against the weight.

“You should have taken someone with you,” Perun said. Jolder shrugged, unrepentant. She bent down, tipped a haphazard spill of firewood into the hollow, and made a fist. Tiny arcs of electricity flared to life across her knuckles as she drove her hand into the heart of the wood. Sparks rose, fell, settled. The logs caught.

Skorri, now done with her circuit of the camp, cupped an unnecessary flame between her palms and gave a sniff. “Or you could just punch it. I don't mind.”

Grinning, Perun squeezed her arm. “I'm sure she didn't mean to steal your thunder.”

“Hmph,” Skorri said, evidently in no mood to be placated via puns. Even so, she leaned into Perun's side and let the flame gutter out. Straightening up, Jolder gave her an apologetic little pat on the shoulder. Without Perun's hand there for balance, it might have sent her stumbling. Just as Saladin gathered himself to stand, an exclamation from Radegast made them all start.

He stood to the south of their camp, eyes fixed on the snow at his feet. As close as he kept his Light, everyone could still feel the joy radiating from him. A flash of curiosity from Timur galvanised them into action. Moving as one, they went to investigate. Saladin fell into step beside Jolder, who had paused to kick a stray log back into the fire. Her Ghost chirruped at him. His own blinked, pinging a response back.

Jolder herself raised an eyebrow. _What do you think?_

He hitched one shoulder a little, an almost imperceptible gesture in the Ghost-lit dark. _We'll find out._ Wind stung his face as he stepped across the boundary. He drew upon his own heat reserve, pulling it up and outward. Beside him, a whisper of static made his skin prickle; Jolder had had the same idea. They brushed shoulders. A skein of crackling Light came away with him when they parted, and she leaned back in to take some of his in return. Outside battle, the effect was heady. Jolder put a hand on his forearm, palm still sparking a little, and kept it there until they reached the group. Lightbearers and Lightgivers alike were clustered around one spot, like participants in some strange ritual.

“If you're quite done skimming off each other,” Efrideet began, but Perun hushed her. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Radegast's mouth, though his eyes did not leave the ground. Saladin followed his gaze to a lumpy, uneven patch of snow. Then a Ghost shifted, spilling more light over the scene, and he saw: a cluster of flower buds, as pale as the icy terrain surrounding them. They were just tall enough to break the crust. He glanced around the circle. _So far north?_ nobody said, or: _at this altitude?_

“Heralds of the thaw,” Radegast said, and stooped to pluck one. “A good omen, for those of us who still believe in such things.”

“Everything has a season,” Silimar said, as predictable as a mountain blizzard. He was off on some flight of fancy, perhaps imagining how much easier it would be to rebuild the Golden Age in less inclement weather. “I choose to take this as a sign.”

“So do I,” said Efrideet, to general astonishment. “No, listen. I've seen it. Remember the snowbridge, Gheleon?” At that, Gheleon's mouth drew into an unhappy line. “We were tracking Emaré's warband through the ice fields up by Bisi's Glacier. When we made it to the bridge, you know, one of the safe routes we always use, he went out in front of me and – boom!” She made an illustrative gesture. “A crevasse opened up. He fell right down to the bottom and crushed half his lower vertebrae. Broke both legs, too. It would've taken hours to dig him out.”

“Had to slit my own throat,” Gheleon said, glowering at the wildflowers. “Quietus hasn't been the same since. Once Risen blood gets that deep into the bevelling, you're done for.”

“Like a crusty old beer stain,” Efrideet said, with relish. When Gheleon glared at her, she threw in an unconvincing, “Horrible!”

“Accidents happen.” It was Perun's job to bring them back down to earth, but she sounded far too hopeful. “Doesn't mean we're looking at a dream of spring come true.”

“You don't think so?” Jolder said. Every syllable sang with delight. “Maybe She took pity on us. Haven't we been dreaming long enough?”

“It fits with what you told me after Zenobia, Felwinter.” If the wind ruffling their cloaks had been any higher, it would have swept Timur's words away. His voice was soft, but not uncertain. “Melting permafrost. The world is warming up.”

Felwinter's gaze was fixed on some invisible point beyond Radegast's shoulder. After a pause, he tipped his head back in an odd little half-nod. “Perhaps.”

“No more snowball fights,” Efrideet said, tone wistful.

“No more getting blown to bits by suspiciously sticky snowballs,” said Perun, and then, as Efrideet spluttered: “We'll still see plenty of snow. Just won't be all year round, maybe – if this is a true thaw.” That half-hearted addition came too late. Her face shone.

Skorri, eyes on Perun, said, “The fire's guttering.” 

It was true. The same collective impulse that had drawn them out there now urged them to go back, sit, and rest. Even Felwinter wanted to return to the campfire, judging by the starburst of red across his nose. Radegast was the first to move; his Ghost flew down to perch on his head as he tramped away across the snow, blossom in hand. The others followed in ones and twos, but Jolder dawdled by the flower patch. When Saladin hesitated, she waved him on.

A moment later, he heard snow crunch beneath her boots as she caught him up. Anyone else would have had to jog. In her hand, she held another bud: tiny and fragile, pinched between her forefinger and thumb. She tucked it behind his ear.

“There you go,” she said. “For the may.”

Saladin blinked. “Mai?”

“Pre-Collapse word. Used to mean _spring_ , back when they still had proper seasons.” Some flicker of surprise must have shown through, because she snorted. “Why the shock?”

The flower threatened to slip. He held his head a little straighter and said, “I'm not questioning your linguistic prowess.”

“You should,” she said, and grinned at him. “Skorri told me.” She hopped the boundary line as if it were a physical barrier, then turned on her heel and offered him her hand. He couldn't not smile. Tugging him across, she bent to plant an exaggerated kiss on his knuckles. Then, eyes bright with laughter, she reached back to adjust the bud again.

“I'll weave you a crown,” she said, “once we have enough flowers.”

A snowball hit the ground near them, exploding across their toecaps. With the coating of ice they'd already picked up, it made little difference. Cupping her hands around her mouth, Jolder shouted, “Nice try, Efrideet!”

“You know I never miss!” came Efrideet's voice. There was a note of real offence in her tone. “That was your five-second _stop making me sick and get over here_ warning.”

Jolder gave her snow-encrusted boots a long, considering look.

“Think of the splash damage,” Saladin said, eyeing the fire.

She shrugged, then took his arm and headed for the others. They made it just in time to see Gheleon slap another snowball out of Efrideet's hand. He did not seem at all perturbed by her scowl. Skorri's Ghost had dropped a small harp in her lap; she was picking out warm-up notes with her back braced against Perun's shoulder. Radegast had a faraway expression on his face. The flower he had plucked now sat comfortably askew between two of his Ghost's points.

For a while, nobody spoke. Weapon parts clicked against each other as Silimar returned to the task he had left behind, and Skorri started humming scales. The notes settled over Saladin like a blanket, driving him to lean back into Jolder's side. He could have fallen asleep there, basking in the warmth of Skorri's voice.

“I'll need a new bolt handle, Ghost,” Silimar said, before she could go up an octave. Given how superfluous that sort of verbal confirmation was, Saladin thought it might have been an excuse to speak out loud. His suspicions were confirmed when Silimar went on: “You should make a song for spring, Skorri.”

“About blossoms and snowmelt?” Skorri scoffed. “I never heard of anything so dull. Who'd want to listen to that?”

“Well, I would, for one,” Silimar said, sounding a little wounded. Skorri's humming started up again, then cut off with an abruptness that suggested someone might have stuck their elbow in her ribs.

“Oh, all right.” Grudging, but not wholly unenthusiastic. The new song must already be taking shape in her head, as delicate a construction as any of Silimar's dream-cities. She turned to Perun. “What do you think? F sharp?”

“Put it to a vote,” Perun said, smiling at her. Skorri clicked her tongue, a little _tchah_ that had no real force behind it. There was a general air of triumph among them, as if they'd found a precious relic or ousted an especially brutish warlord. Silimar sought Saladin's gaze, but seemed to hesitate once their eyes met. He'd been hoping to see his own happiness mirrored, Saladin knew, and found the slight frown he got instead to be a letdown. There was no real reason not to be glad. Saladin felt a divide between himself and the others, though he couldn't have said why. It wasn't scepticism, or cynicism, or even a fear of disappointment. Was it simple fear?

The flower behind his ear tickled. He made to adjust it, but Jolder got there first.

“Stop dwelling.” Her fingers found his jaw. The gauntlet pads were rough; her touch was not. “I know you. If the big melt happens, it happens. Otherwise, we'll go on just as we always have.”

Then Timur, of all people, yelped out loud. He had been sitting between Radegast and Felwinter, speaking to the latter in a low voice. Felwinter swiped his thumb along Timur's cheekbone, examined it as if he were double-checking the results of an experiment, and said, “Snow.”

“Knew we should've pitched the tent circle earlier,” Gheleon muttered, underneath everyone else's complaints. “You celebrate a reprieve. You don't hang your future on it.”

“This means very little,” said Timur, rallying. Saladin wondered when he had become such a stalwart optimist. “The thaw's effect is already visible in places like the Mothyards. Whole new areas will start becoming accessible...”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Felwinter said. His tone was sharp. Instead of arguing, Timur pursed his lips and fell silent. There, Saladin thought, was the shade of some debate he hadn't been privy to. He glanced at Jolder. She shook her head, looking as mystified as he felt.

He turned his face up to the sky, frowning at unseen clouds. A flake settled on his nose.

“Cheer up!” Jolder said, laughing, and kissed the snowflake away. “Give spring some time to settle in. Took it a couple of centuries to get here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had the urge to write some Iron Lords fluff (with a discussion of temporary character death in the middle, but). FLUFF IS THE ANSWER TO TRAGEDY. That, and more tragedy.


End file.
